Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (303 page)

“LOCAL JOURNALIST TORTURED, RAPED, EXECUTED.”

CHAPTER THREE

Gavin sat nursing his third glass of brandy as the apartment grew dark around him. In the past two days he’d grown to hate the light. Everywhere he looked he saw Cory. She was everywhere in the apartment—the drapes, the paintings on the wall, the furniture, the French cameo vase. He remembered her face the first time she’d come here, her words. Gavin Colin McAllister, this is a disaster. She’d immediately set about changing everything in the apartment. Her zest for beauty an inspiration, she’d turned the drab apartment into a home.

Gavin rose from the sofa, walked to the bar and poured another glass of brandy. No matter how much he drank, he couldn’t get the headline out of his head. Just words. He was a writer, made his living with words. He knew the impact of the words was in direct correlation to the emotions of the reader. Words could be twisted, knives to open up wounds long hidden. Maneuvered to evoke buried nightmares. Bare the soul, expose the wound, and you had a best seller. Make them laugh. Make them cry. But above all, make them feel something. He was an expert at manipulating words for emotion.

But he’d seen the body.

He emptied the glass of brandy, welcoming the burn in his throat. The blinking red light on the answering machine a constant reminder of his shame, his guilt. He should have erased the message. Instead, he tormented himself by playing it again.

Gavin, it’s Carl. Rob collapsed. I’m taking him to the hospital. I’ll call you.

Carl would call, but he wouldn’t answer. It was better this way. Better for all of them if he simply disappeared. The darkness followed him. And wherever the darkness was, death was close behind.

Gavin, you have to help them. Save them.

Cory was standing in the shadows of the living room. “Cory?” His mind registered what his heart refused to believe. Cory was dead. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and reopened them. She was still there, her beautiful ethereal form a light in the darkness.

Gavin, please protect her.

She drifted across the room, stopping in front of the stack of mail he’d tossed on the coffee table. She smiled at him, a small wistful smile that broke the ice around his heart. Tears began to flow down his face. “Cory?” He choked on the word, reaching for her. She drifted away from him.

Protect her Gavin. If she dies, my death will have no meaning.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he wiped his eyes. “I don’t understand, Cory. Who?”

Her light shimmered, fading into the darkness.

Gavin stood motionless, his mind blurred by the brandy. He was drunk. That had to be it. Hallucinating.

How many hallucinations ask you to protect someone?

“Go away, Jacody.” Gavin groaned, slumping on the sofa, head between his hands. He’d never cried before. Not even at the death of his parents. He felt strange inside, hollow.

She came here to tell you something.

“God, I need a drink.”

You can run, but there’s no place to hide, Gavin. We have to protect them.

“We?” Gavin laughed hollowly. “You’re a character in a book. There is no we.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. You have to protect them, or her. A mystery. Secrets.

Gavin curled his hands into fists. Raising his head, he focused on the red blinking light of the answering machine. Jacody had always been his voice of reason. The hero. Now, it was his turn. There was no story, no book rights. Cory was dead, and Rob needed him. And if Cory was right, somewhere out there, someone else needed him.

He picked up the stack of mail. The wedding invitation on top started a new wave of pain, but he tossed it aside, digging through the envelopes until he found the small postcard. He ran his fingers over the writing, closing his eyes. He allowed himself a moment of grief, feeling her love, her warmth wash over him. Trembling, he opened his eyes to read the card.

Gavin, I’ve found a great story. I’m worried though, because it may have something to do with this case Rob is working. The Mother’s Day thing. I’ll call you tonight. Love, Cory.

TORTURED, RAPED, EXECUTED

He fought the rage that threatened to consume him. Fought the tenebrosity that pulled at his soul. Cory deserved better than that. She’d died to protect someone.

He examined the card, the old building burning its image in his mind. The Lodge, Glade Springs, West Virginia.

Cory’s words echoed in his mind. The Mother’s Day thing. What was it Rob had said? The son-of-a-bitch got personal. Hit us in our own backyard.

It wasn’t a story this time. This time it was personal. The demon of his nightmares had no name, but now he knew where to look for him. Glade Springs had secrets. And no one uncovered secrets better than Jacody Ives.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sarah swore softly as the overflowing cup sent scalding coffee over her hand. Ignoring the pain, she focused on the TV, ears straining to catch every word of the morning news. “Richmond Police say there are still no clues in the execution-style murder of Corrine Larson. Larson, whose body was discovered in a dumpster outside her apartment complex early Monday morning was a three-time award winning journalist for the Richmond Herald.

The story continued, but Sarah stopped listening as the erratic beat of her heart pounded inside her head. Monday. She’d tried to put the dream out of her mind. Rationalized it. Just a dream brought on by the death of Johanna Nelson.

Rubbing her temples, Sarah brought her attention to the screen just in time to see a pretty young brunette with deep brown eyes smiling at her. “No,” she whispered.

“Mommy, that’s the pretty lady.”

Sarah jumped. She’d been so focused on the news story she hadn’t heard Nikki enter the room. She struggled to control her emotions, turned off the TV and forced a smile as she turned to her daughter.

“What pretty lady, honey?”

“The one in my room last night. I’m hungry.”

Sarah shook herself mentally. Was it possible? She knew it wasn’t impossible that Nikki had inherited what her grandmother called “her gift,” but dear God, she was only five years old.

And the spirits had never actually materialized to Sarah. They only came to her in dreams.

Sarah struggled to control the shaking of her hands as she pulled down a box of cereal. This was definitely one of those situations they didn’t cover in Sheriff 101.

“How about a big bowl of cereal?”

“Okie, dokie.”

Sarah felt a pang of fear as she watched Nikki bounce up to the table. She always seemed to bounce, her strawberry blonde curls in constant disarray. So full of energy, bursting with life. So tiny. So helpless. Too young. She was much too young for the dreams.

“Here you go…one bowl of cereal and a glass of OJ, just for good measure.” Sarah forced her voice to sound natural. Taking her coffee, she sat across from Nikki, wondering where to start. She questioned people all the time. But how did you question a five year old? Especially a five year old who seemed to take the appearance of a strange woman in her bedroom in the middle of the night as a normal occurrence.

“Nikki, tell me about the pretty lady.”

“I’m not supposed to tell. Can I stay with Millie today?”

Sarah controlled her impatience, taking her time, choosing her words carefully.

“Why aren’t you supposed to tell, sweetheart?”

Nikki shook her head as she scooped up another mini-wheat. “It’s a secret.”

“Nikki, look at me.” Sarah felt her patience waning as Nikki chewed slowly, making a huge display of swallowing loudly before meeting her mother’s eyes. “You shouldn’t have secrets from Mommy, remember? We talked about this.”

“It’s okay, Mommy. I know when people are bad. She’s a nice lady. I think she’s lost.”

Sarah sighed in frustration. Nikki had always been the world’s best secret keeper. Her soft blue eyes pleaded with Sarah for understanding, for trust.

“Okay, you keep your secret…for now. But, young lady, if you see her again, you have to promise to tell me.”

Nikki bobbed her head, smiling.

“Get dressed. I’ll call Millie and see if it’s okay for you to stay with her today.”

“Whoopee!”

Sarah couldn’t help but laugh as she watched Nikki dance up the stairs. Nikki was her life. Without her…

“It was only a dream,” she whispered. Corrine Larson had nothing to do with her life, or Nikki’s. Still, a cold chill ran down her spine as she dialed Millie’s number. She remembered the feeling of dread, pain, and death that had jerked her from the dream. But most of all, she remembered the heart-wrenching cry,
He’s coming, Sarah. He wants to destroy you
.

#

“Morning, Sheriff. I was beginning to worry about you.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, looking at her favorite deputy, Joshua Cross, before glancing at the clock.

“It’s only eight-thirty.”

“Forget something?” Joshua raised an eyebrow, mocking her.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered. The toxicology report on Johanna Nelson. “Did they call?”

“About ten minutes ago. Doc Hawthorne says to call him when you get in. Got something on his mind.”

Sarah nodded. Doc Hawthorne had delivered Johanna Nelson, watched her grow up, and he’d been the one to tell her parents about her death. She was sure he had a lot on his mind. There were still unanswered questions about Johanna’s death, questions that would probably never be answered, as the case seemed no more than a tragic accident. Johanna had been drinking, lost control in the curve and hit a tree. Death had been instantaneous. And then there was what she had felt at the scene last night. Dammit, that was always the problem. She never knew when it was real. Had there really been someone else with Johanna?

Sarah hesitated, tempted to tell Joshua about her suspicion that Johanna had not been alone in the car. “Damn,” she muttered, grabbing a cup of too strong coffee as she headed for her office. And how would she explain her suspicions?
Joshua, I have this gift, and it tells me things
. She was sure that would go over great.

Grabbing the phone, she dialed Doc Hawthorne’s number. The sooner she made the call, the sooner Johanna’s parents would be allowed to lay their daughter to rest. Maybe Sarah could also lay her doubts to rest.

Five minutes later, Sarah grimaced as she slammed down the phone. The call to Doc had done no more than raise additional questions. Although Johanna smelled of alcohol, blood tests revealed she had not been drinking. Sarah knew there was something else. Something Doc had not told her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was there. She’d have to go see him in person, take a look at the autopsy report, and find out what he was hiding. The knock on her door did nothing to improve her mood.

“Come in.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just fine,” Sarah muttered sarcastically. “Doc says Johanna wasn’t drinking.”

Joshua seated himself comfortably in the old armchair Sarah had purchased at a yard sale.

“Don’t surprise me none. Never knew that girl to take a drink.”

“Then what the hell happened out there, Joshua? What am I supposed to tell her parents?”

Joshua shrugged, chewing a toothpick. A habit he’d taken up when he’d stopped smoking three years ago.

“You’d better put something on that burn.”

Sarah glanced down at her hand. She’d almost forgotten about burning herself that morning. The skin was now a fiery red.

“It’s not that bad. Did you need something?” Sarah wanted to be alone. She rubbed her temples. Everything seemed to be off kilter.

“Just worried about you. You look a little pale. Maybe you should have Doc take a look at that hand.”

Sarah stopped rubbing her temples. Genius. A perfect excuse to pick the old doctor’s brain. “Yeah, I’ll do that. But I’m fine, really. Nikki hasn’t been sleeping well lately, so, of course, neither have I.”

“I’m afraid you’re not gonna sleep too well in the next couple of weeks, either.” Joshua tossed a mystery novel on her desk. “Know him?”

Sarah glanced at the novel. “G. C. McAllister?” She read the title,
A Jacody Ives Mystery – Pool of Tears
. “No, I’ve never heard of him.” She glanced from the book to Joshua.